


inevitability

by blazeofglory



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're both going to die, but it'd be nice to have an ally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	inevitability

In training, there had been twenty-three other kids, but that’s not what Dean saw. He saw pigs waiting for slaughter; young people ( _kids like Sammy,_ his mind whispered) that could’ve had a future, but didn’t anymore.

But he couldn’t quite bring himself to pity them. Not when he was one of them. Not when it could’ve been Sam in his place, and he was just so, _so_ grateful that his brother hadn’t been reaped instead. He wasn’t pitying; he felt defeated already. Determined to fight, if only to get back to his brother and father, but knowing that there was no way he could possibly win.

Looking around, he saw only people he would probably try to kill at some point. He refused outright to touch a hair on Jo, the other tribute from his district and no older than 13, but she would hardly make a good ally. She had no chance of surviving even the first week.

Dean knew he had to make connections with the tributes and get sponsors if he wanted to last more than a day, but... They all wanted to kill him. And at this point, he kind of wanted to die anyway. If he couldn’t protect Sammy and help his dad, what good was he? He was going to die.

And he really didn’t want to.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, then looked around again, this time forcing himself to seek out a friendly face. He had to at least attempt to align with someone.

That’s when he saw _him_.

Dark hair, pale skin, and blue eyes, holding an axe and looking almost comically out of place amongst the weaponry all around him.

Castiel Novak.

Dean remembered the name from watching the reapings-- this boy in particular had stood out in his silent defiance. He hadn’t cried in desperation or cheered at being picked; he had walked up to the stage, silent as can be, face an unreadable mask. He had looked untouchable; fearless.

Not anymore. He looked terrified and panicky.

And Dean knew he’d found an ally.


End file.
